shake.
“W-when? Why?”
“Something is wrong here,” he said. “Jack and Doug are losing it. The other day they took all of my clothes except what I’m wearing. I think they burned them. They’re getting totally paranoid, and it’s all coming down on me.”
“But where will you go?” Lindsay asked.
“Doesn’t matter. Anywhere but here. I’m only telling you because I like you a lot, and if things weren’t so screwed up, we might have…” He let the sentence trail away. He fell silent for a moment, then said “The thing is, once I go, that’s it. I can’t come back. I can’t see you anymore, and I can’t call or anything. So, I guess this is kind of good-bye.”
“Good-bye?” Lindsay felt incredibly ill. Never see each other again? “When are you leaving?”
“As soon as I can. I thought about taking off the minute Jack and Doug left, but I wanted to talk to you first, you know? I’m never sure when they’ll leave or when they’ll come back. It might be days before I get another chance, but I’ve got to get away from here. They’re really scaring me now.”
“Is there anything I can do?” Lindsay asked.
Mark pulled the cell phone from his pocket and handed it to her. It felt like a hot lump of coal in her hand. “You’ve already done enough.”
She tried kissing him again, but he pulled away, shaking his head. “It’ll only make things worse.”
He stood and walked back to the piano. Solemnly, he sat down and began to play.
As far as Lindsay was concerned, it couldn’t get any worse than this.
11
The first time Lindsay got into real trouble she was nine years old. One day after school, Kate talked her into smoking a cigarette. They were in Lindsay’s room watching television, and the babysitter, Mrs. Kharn, was napping on the sofa downstairs. Kate produced the Marlboro and a book of matches, and though Lindsay’s first response was “No way,” a minute later she was drawing the nasty smoke into her throat. She only managed to take two puffs before feeling totally high—her head was spinning and light as air. They flushed the evidence down the toilet and swore to each other that they’d never touch another cigarette. Kate went home, and Lindsay brushed her teeth twice to get rid of the gross taste in her mouth.
To her mind, she had gotten away with it. It was an exciting feeling, like having the dual thrills of completing a dare and holding a secret all rolled up in one.
But she didn’t get away with anything. Her mom only needed two seconds in her room, the scene of the crime, before her face went red with anger. She’d never heard her mom really yell before, but she yelled that day. Her dad was worse. He looked so sad and disappointed with Lindsay that he couldn’t even talk to her. They grounded her for two weeks and took her television and her computer away. Her dad read her all kinds of really horrible stories about what smoking did to the body that he’d printed from the internet.
Long before she ever watched a single episode of
What happened to her that night was similar.
After dinner, around sunset, Lindsay walked out onto the porch, and looked out at the ocean. She felt miserable about Mark. It was like he was already gone. Like she already missed him. A sound on the side of the house, Mark’s side, drew her attention, and she crossed to the railing and looked down the alley.
Jack stood in the sand just outside Mark’s window. His hands were on his hips as he looked down at the ground. Fear shot through Lindsay in fast, cold bolts.
She spun away, her mind racing as she replayed the afternoon in her head. What had she dropped? What evidence had she left behind? The realization came on soon after she exhausted her memories of the day.
The sand. She had left footprints in the sand.
Soon she heard voices. Doug must have joined his partner outside Mark’s window. They spoke rapidly, quietly. The voices were like a breeze ruffling papers, and though she struggled to hear the conversation, she could not make out the words.
With her heart slamming her ribs, sending a deafening pulse to her ears, she began to fear for Mark. If things were so bad before, what horrible punishment would they come up with now?
Finally words drifted out of the yard between the houses, words she could hear and understand. The cold bolts of fear shot even faster.
“We have to talk to her parents,” one of the guardians said. “If that doesn’t work, we’ll have to get serious.”
“I just want to kill the bastard.”
“If only we could” was the reply.
Lindsay walked south on the beach. To her right were houses, all lit up for evening; to her left the ocean, deep and black, spread out and joined the sky. Mostly, Lindsay looked at the sand. All of the ridges and dents from a day’s use lay accusingly at her feet.
She shook her head, gave the sand a good kick, and kept walking. She wanted distance between herself and her uncle’s house. Even now, one or both of Mark’s guardians might be talking to her parents, lying to them about Mark so they could keep him prisoner and keep her away. Or they might be punishing him. She didn’t know; she just knew she needed to be somewhere else for a while.
She’d thought about sticking around and confronting the men. Ultimately, she couldn’t. What if she said something that revealed the extent of her knowledge? In her eagerness to defend Mark, she could make matters worse. No. She needed to think this out, come up with a plan. Her heart ached over what those two might do to Mark, but if she was going to help him—really help him—she had to play it cool.
When she looked up from the sand, Lindsay saw that she was on the outskirts of the trailer village. People stood around their mobile homes, chatting and barbecuing. Closer to the water, two boys played catch with a football, the many lights from the trailers providing just enough glow to see the ball.
Beyond the trailers were more homes like her uncle’s. Then the beaches gave way to rocky ground before a mile of cliffside rose up. In the next cove a handful of glassy mansions had been built, but the hills above them were undeveloped. Scrub grasses and shrubs decorated that landscape. A forest ran to the south and inland just above the road that traced the edge of the cliffs high above the ocean. Her dad had taken her up there when she was a little girl. Like many things, it was beautiful from a distance, but kind of ugly up close.
One of the boys playing catch on the beach laughed loudly at something and Lindsay looked toward him. The boy farthest from her was facedown in the sand, kicking his legs like a baby having a tantrum. Then he sprang to his feet and did a silly little dance before spiking the ball in the sand.
She thought Mark deserved moments like this, moments of fun and freedom and silliness. Everyone deserved that.
Lindsay turned away from the playing boys. What she saw next made her skin go cold with fear.
She’d been followed. Jack stood just inside the light cast from the backside of the nearest trailer. His black shirt clung to a burly, muscled frame. Dark pools of shadow hid his eyes, but she knew he was looking at her.
She backed up and nearly fell on her butt when the sand gave under her step. Somehow she regained her balance and spun away, her throat and chest tight with fear. Lindsay took two steps forward, then stopped. The
